


Trussed

by lockedin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Plug, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom John, Bottoming from the Top, Cock Rings, Come Marking, Dom John, Dom John Watson, Dom/sub, Gags, John Being a Cock Tease, M/M, Marking, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Riding, Sensory Deprivation, Sub Sherlock, Top Sherlock, Topping from the Bottom, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/pseuds/lockedin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock prefers when John takes care of him, in every possible way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trussed

**Author's Note:**

> For [Shelly](http://whybenedict.tumblr.com/).
> 
> This was inspired by some fun banter we had going last night over toplock v. bottomlock. I, of course, enjoy both. However the setup, I particularly like when my bottoms are in control.
> 
> I'm sorry this is not extensively edited. I was going to, but my head hurts and I just want to get this posted.

The earplugs were the last to go in. Sherlock had already been blindfolded and gagged, and now his hearing was gone. He lay stretched out on his own bed, his wrists and ankles secured to either corner of the frame. The only parts of his body he could move to any real effect were his head and his hips.

The only part Sherlock had been permitted to watch was John preparing himself. Sherlock was already trussed and gagged by then. John then position himself with his back on display and proceeded to insert one lube-slicked finger after another into his own arse. Sherlock could still hear at that point, so he couldn’t even imagine John’s moans for himself. Reality dashed that fantasy; John didn’t make a single sound. When he had stretched himself completely, he plugged himself, climbed off the bed with barely a brush of skin against Sherlock, and went on to finish Sherlock’s preparations.

As much as Sherlock expected the touch, he had no way of measuring exactly when it would come. He was forced into a constant state of anticipation, waiting—wanting for it, and yet unable to prepare himself for it. There was no preliminary tease before John took Sherlock’s prick in hand and stretched the cock ring over and all the way down, to release it below his bollocks. Then that touch was gone, and Sherlock fell back to straining for the next.

It came cold and slick, a finger pressed below the ring and dragged down to his anus. This much Sherlock could deduce: it was the same hand that John had used to stretch himself. Only, he didn’t stretch Sherlock. He circled his hole and even stroked across it, but his finger never once breached. Something else did, though. A single ball, though more cylindrical than spherical, pushed in until it was snugly captured against Sherlock’s prostate. A small bit of plastic was secured to the back of his thigh with medical tape, and then it was switched on.

Sherlock let out a whine around the gag, tongue pressing up into the leather stuffed in his mouth. His body strained against the restraints, hips pushed up into the air and head pushed back into the pillow. He could feel the blood rush into his cock and the growing constriction of the silicone band that had, for a short time, hung loose below his scrotum.

His mind narrowed so suddenly and acutely on the vibrator and the ring that cried out at the shock of the tongue against his right nipple. The moment the cry reverberated in his throat, the tongue was replaced with teeth, then lips, and he was sucked until his nipple felt raw. The same attention was given to his left nipple, and when they were both sore and sensitive, John rubbed his hard roughly over them in unison.

Sherlock could have come already, would have come already, if not for the ring. All he could do was feel, and every feeling was amplified by the muteness of sight and sound. All he could do was feel the incessant stimulation against his prostate, the heat in his groin, the tongue now dipping into the hollow of his throat. He pushed his hips up, as if fucking the air would provide enough friction.

A hand splayed over his pelvis pushed him back down. That same hand then dragged down, tracing the curve of his groin, trailing through pubic hair and never once touching what Sherlock needed touched. The fingers lifted away.

The air, what little of it was left in Sherlock’s lungs, was knocked out of him by the sudden weight of John seating himself on Sherlock’s torso. A mix of rage and arousal raced through Sherlock’s mind and body when he felt, not bare flesh, but cotton. John, after prepping and plugging himself, had put on a pair of pants. Sherlock couldn’t even appreciate the feel of John’s bare arse, not until John wanted him to.

John rubbed his palms down Sherlock’s chest, pushing relentlessly over his raw nipples. Under his pectorals, John dug his fingers into Sherlock’s skin and dragged them to his hips. He leant his weight forward and pressed his mouth against Sherlock’s throat, nipping and sucking and licking an array of blemishes onto Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock tilted his head back, giving the canvas of his neck to John.

When John was done with Sherlock’s neck, there was a fair amount of shifting on the mattress, including John raising his bottom off Sherlock. For a moment, all touch was gone again, and only the dip of the mattress from John’s knees told Sherlock he hadn’t left the bed. For a moment, all he had to focus on was the vibrations against his now overly tender prostate.

Then the world of sound came rushing back to him. He could hear London, the sound of his own panting around the gag, the creak of the mattress and rustle of sheets as John leant forward.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, and it sounded like a symphony. “Don’t peek, or I’ll let you sit here until you come from the vibrator alone, and that could be ages. Then we’d have to start all over. So close your eyes, and don’t look until I tell you to.”

Sherlock nodded and squeezed his already closed eyes behind the blindfold. John removed it and leant back on the bed. More than that. He wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s hot, straining cock, and the feeling was almost too much. Sherlock whined and nearly lost his wherewithal to keep his eyes closed. He screamed around the gag as John lowered himself, pushing himself onto Sherlock’s cock.

“Not yet,” John said, his own breathing less than even. That was some consolation, that even the soldier was slipping.

John’s fingertips brushed against Sherlock’s thigh near the control box for the vibrator. Sherlock was conflicted by the prospect of it going off, of losing that almost too intense stimulation. His anticipation was unfounded, or rather misdirected. John flicked the switch—from low to high.

Sherlock moaned, the sound high and almost pained, hips jerking up, limbs straining against their restraints. John hissed and bore down on Sherlock with his full weight until Sherlock stilled. “Now,” John said, “you can look.”

It was almost too good, hearing the words, and it took Sherlock a moment to pry his eyes open. When he did, he could only groan. There John was, impaled on Sherlock’s cock and presiding over Sherlock’s sweat-drenched body. And the bastard wasn’t even completely erect. He was close, to be sure, but it was clear that he had kept from touching himself—aside from stretching himself of course—this entire time. He was going to make this last, now that he had Sherlock shivering beneath him, inside him, straining in every possible way.

“Do you think you can move?”

Sherlock nodded vigorously. God did he want to move.

John smiled as he raised himself almost completely off Sherlock’s cock, keeping steady eye contact the entire time. “Then move.”

Sherlock was momentarily horrified. He hadn’t nearly enough mobility to fuck John properly in this position.

“Nothing’s going to be done about it unless you move.” John emphasised the last word, making it a command.

So Sherlock moved, thrusting helplessly a few centimetres into John. Every clench of muscles clenched the vibrator tighter against his prostate and he whimpered the first time, and the second. It didn’t take long for his already exhausted body to start giving out. His already pitiful thrusts came slower and even shallower. He was nearly sobbing by the time he gave up. He lay shuddering under John, the head of his cock barely inside the other man.

“That’s it? That’s all you can muster? The world’s only consulting detective. You can chase down cars, but you can’t even fuck properly. This is all you can give me?”

Sherlock gave a mortifying nod. He stared at John, pleading. He had no energy left in him. He just wanted to come, he didn’t care how. All he wanted was to come.

“Good,” John said with a predatory grin.

John bore down slowly, leaning back to brace his hands on Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock’s eyes shot wide and nearly rolled back into his skull. He could feel John clench around him with perfect control as he slid down, until Sherlock’s cock was stuffed wholly inside of him. He removed his hands from Sherlock’s thighs and leant forward on his torso.

He didn’t start slow. He went at Sherlock full force, pushing down on his waist and riding him with fast, shallow, furious undulations. That was the only word Sherlock could think to describe how John moved on his cock, not only moving up and down but rotating his hips back and forth. It was all done with such synchronicity that the result was a rapid cycle of undulations on Sherlock’s cock.

John’s own prick, now fully erect, bobbed in front of him, regularly slapping Sherlock’s stomach with the force of his movements.

“You’re not even going to come,” John panted, not once losing beat. “After all this, after all the work I put in, you can’t even come?”

Sherlock groaned as John tightened his muscles around Sherlock’s cock, lifted himself higher, and came crashing down again.

He did it repeatedly as he spoke, impaling himself forcefully with each word, “Come—in—me.”

Still, Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to come. He was desperate, so close and still his body wouldn’t obey his screaming will.

John slid his hands further up Sherlock until he could twist Sherlock’s nipples, timing it perfectly with another undulation. “You bastard,” John panted. “All this, and you can’t even come.”

Sherlock’s eyes were watering and he keened around the leather slippery with his saliva.

“I guess there’s only one thing for it,” John sighed. He lifted himself again, and for one terrifying moment Sherlock thought he would take himself off Sherlock entirely. He didn’t, though. He reached back with one hand and flipped the vibrator switch. The bloody thing had only been on a middle setting.

As soon as the vibrations increased, John returned to fucking himself in earnest on Sherlock, quicker than he had before.

Now Sherlock was there. With a scream barely muffled by the gag, he came. Oh god, did he come. It wasn’t one hard, blinding burst. He came slowly, his cock jerking inside John as John continued moving, squeezing his arse around Sherlock for all his worth. He milked Sherlock’s orgasm as it dragged on and left Sherlock’s head buzzing and the room less than stable.

“You’ll miss the finale,” John said, his voice hoarse.

Sherlock gathered every scrap of willpower left to him and focused. As John continued to squeeze him through his seemingly unending orgasm, he wrapped his hand around his own cock. He didn’t move his hand, but instead fucked the tight grip he had formed at the same time as he rode Sherlock’s increasingly sensitive prick.

John came with a low groan, decorating Sherlock’s torso with long strips. He moved through its entirety, his hand perfectly still. A surgeon’s hand. Only at the very end did he rub the last of his ejaculate out and onto Sherlock.

John flipped off the vibrator, and that was a different kind of relief altogether. He lifted himself off Sherlock’s spent cock and hung there for a moment to admire his work. “Back in a tick,” he said. He climbed off the bed and walked awkwardly out of the room, arse clenched tight to keep from dripping Sherlock’s ejaculate.

Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on breathing slowly through his nose. Once that was done, he began to catalogue: aches, marks, bruises, sensations. John had done a number on him, one of his best. He wondered how long it had taken to plan everything so perfectly. He wondered, but he wouldn’t ask. He never asked. He liked when the little details went unknown to him. He liked leaving everything in John’s charge and care, especially himself.

John returned with supplies, having already cleaned himself up. He began with Sherlock’s stomach, then moved gently to his softening prick. He peeled off the medical tape on Sherlock’s thighs and slid the vibrator out of his arse. He wiped Sherlock’s neck and chest with a damp flannel, soothing the marks he had left.

When he began untying Sherlock, he did it one limb at a time, massaging each ankle and wrist, leg and arm, working out the kinks the strain had put on his muscles and tendons. Even with his arms free, Sherlock made no effort to move past John’s manipulation of his limbs. John laid Sherlock’s hands on his own stomach and turned to the cock ring. He removed it with amazingly light touch, all things considered. 

The last thing to come off, the first to go on, was the gag. John lifted Sherlock’s head and unbuckled the strap. He eased it out of Sherlock’s mouth and set it aside, exchanging it for the glass of water he had brought back with him. He cradled Sherlock’s head and held the edge of the glass to his lips. Sherlock sipped slowly, on John’s instructions. He wanted to gulp it down. After he’d quenched the dryness of his mouth and throat, John massaged his sore jaw.

The first words out of Sherlock’s mouth was a muttered, “Should’ve been a masseuse.”

John grinned warmly down at him. “You really want me to do this to anyone else?”

Sherlock covered John’s hands and pressed them against his cheeks. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

John laughed quietly and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock’s brow. He nestled against Sherlock and pulled the covers over them. Sherlock rolled onto his side and wrapped his tired arms around John, keeping him close, and far from the rest of the world.


End file.
